


A Study in Coffee

by Nicotinebatch (Amave)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Coffee!Lock, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amave/pseuds/Nicotinebatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson runs a Coffee Shop in one of London's busiest streets: Baker Street. One miserable day, a stranger walks in and orders a black coffee with two sugars. He carries plastic bags with photographs and weird objects with him, displays them on the table in front of him and can observe them for hours on end. John Watson is intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> This story was prompted by Taikova's brilliant art of a Coffee Shop AU. I'm an AO3 newbie and I don't know how to embed a link, so here's the link to the art: http://taikova.tumblr.com/post/36741391912/a-coffee-shop-au-where-john-opens-a-coffee-shop
> 
> Someone screamed that it should be ficced and then this happened. I have plenty ideas to write out, so this is probably going to be a multi-chaptered fic. Enjoy!

"Mrs Hudson, new customer at table two!"

"I'm so sorry dear, but can you go? I'm still busy baking the brownies you needed."

"Alright, I'll go."

John Watson dropped the towel he was cleaning with and walked from behind the counter. It was a drizzly morning and there were no sitting customers apart from the man that had just seated himself at table two. The only customers that he had had today were takeaways, so he had been quite alone with Mrs Hudson. Mrs Hudson was the only employee he could afford of the income he had of his coffee shop.. One day he had told one of his uni mates, Mike that he wanted to open a coffee shop called 'What's on?'. She was a widow and an absolute sweetheart, but moreover: she was a fantastic baker and made all the brownies, cupcakes, fudge and not what herself. She was lovely company to have, though John preferred customers who had to pay him instead of an old lady who he had to pay.

John took a notepad and a blue ballpoint out of his apron while walking to table two. The tall, dark haired man draped his damp coat over the back of his chair, pulled some pictures out of a few plastic bags and sat down. Once arrived, his new customer didn't look up at him. John cleared his throat to get his attention.

"Can I help you?"

"Black coffee, two sugars please." the man murmured, still not looking up. John wasn't sure if he had heard the order correctly because the man had talked with his face aimed at the table. He shuffled on his feet.

"Black coffee, two sugars? Ok. Anything else? We have all kinds of cakes and pies, as it is just after eleven o'clock."

The man seemed to consider the choice. 

"What day is it today?" The man finally had raised his head and faced John with a questioning expression. The man had a remarkable face, a pale contrast to his dark hair and dark clothing.

"Er... Wednesday, I guess." 

"I'm fine for a bit, thanks." The man decided and focussed back on his photographs again.

Okay. So this man had not eaten for some hours, no _days_ and made sure on which day he would eat. A bit confused, John walked back to the counter to make a black coffee with two sugars. John shook his head and siged quietly. Surely a man needed to eat. Without doubting, John put one of the freshly baked muffins on a plate and carried both the coffee and the muffin to the stranger at table two.

"Thanks." The man spoke muffled into his his hands that rested against his lips, folded together. Again, he didn't look up from his pictures when John dropped his coffee. Then, John placed the muffin next to the coffee and started to walk back to the counter.

"I didn't order that." John heard the man saying behind his back.

"I know."

\---

John couldn't help but be intrigued by the stranger at table two.

e glanced over to table two a few times during brewing his coffee. The man sat still, apparently mesmerised by the pictures in front of him.

After he had given the stranger the muffin and his coffee, John had other customers to attend to. Two café lattes takeaway and an espresso with a brownie later, the coffee shop quieted down again. The espresso had sat down at table five and was munching his brownie away in silence. Only the rain dripping down the windows sounded in the background of John's favourite violin compositions, playing in the background.  
While reading the paper on the counter, John occasionally looked up at table two. The stranger just sat there, endlessly looking at the pictures in front of him. Sometimes frowning, sometimes staring into eternity, he took sips of his coffee. He didn’t touch the muffin though.

Or so John thought.

Mrs Hudson took over the counter for a moment so John could update the stock orders. When he came back fifteen minutes later and glanced over at the man, he saw him absent-mindedly nibbling at the muffin, still staring at those pictures in front of him. John got a massive grin on his face, which he quickly hid when the stranger looked up and met his eye. He quickly dropped the muffin on the plate as if he just became aware he was eating it and focussed on the pictures again.

The stranger kept munching at the muffin every time he thought John didn’t look. Of course John did see it and of course the stranger saw John's smirk in turn smiled a little. John felt his gloomy day transforming into an amused and a jolly one.

That was strange. He had not felt merry in, what was it? Weeks? Months? Why had he given the stranger the muffin anyway? John could answer that with the simplest explanation. 

Well, for a start: the man was pale and had slightly blue bags under his eyes. He looked unhealthy and wasn’t it a doctor’s duty to care for his patients? But this stranger was just a customer, not a patient and John wasn't a doctor. Not anymore. John shook his head and sighed in himself. He felt his mood sink. This train of thought could wait.

The espresso customer was finished, paid and left. John sighed, draped the towel over his shoulder and walked over to table five to clean the table. He carried the empty espresso cup and the plate with leftover brownie crumbles in his right hand on his way back when he was called by the stranger.

“Same coffee again, please.”

“Ok, comin'.”

John stopped at table two and took the dirty cup in his left hand when something caught his eye. The pictures the customer was scrutinizing, they were… odd… to say the least. Or just gory and obscene, John couldn’t tell. Was that a severed hea-?

The stranger cleared his throat, obviously not only for the purpose of comforting his gullet.

“Oh yeah.” 

John muttered slowly and quickly recaptured his journey to the kitchen. The dishes he carried on his right arm were beginning to get uncomfortable. He quickly put them down in the kitchen and took a moment time to assemble his thoughts.

 _This man was looking at pictures of severed heads, blood stains on walls and footprints._ John thought, a bit appalled. _Not at all strange or worrying, huh._

Watching the stranger with even more interest, John made his coffee and brought it back to the table. With a soft 'clang' the saucer hit the table. The muffin lay on the plate, half eaten away, John observed and smiled a small smile. He was just on his way back to the counter when-

"Can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.

The message needed a second too much before John realised what the stranger was asking.

"Yeah, you can use the landline here, let me bring-"

He was interrupted again.

"I prefer to text."  
Again, a second too late, John reacted.

"You need my mobile phone?"

"Yes." The stranger said as if he wanted to say ‘DUH’ in John’s face. John thought he should be hesitant or even insulted, but retrieved his mobile phone from one of his apron pockets and handed it over to the man. He accepted John’s phone and immediately began to type fervently. John stared at him, not sure to be weirded out or interested in the stranger. 

The stranger gave him the phone back and abruptly rose from his chair. The wooden chair legs made a scraping sound over the tiles. John looked in the 'sent messages' folder to read what on earth the contents of the sent text would be.

**Sent to: _DI Lestrade  
_** _**If brother has green ladder, arrest brother.**_  
 **Sender: _-SH_**

John had to read it twice and he still didn't understand it. Even more confusing: the stranger was hurriedly putting back his coat and scarf on. The man smashed a ten-pound note on the table and turned to leave.  
John halted him by tapping him on his shoulder.

"But sir, your coffee-"

"I got to dash now, keep the change!"

The stranger didn't turn or noticed John. He only gave a wave of his hand.

John had questions he didn't dare to ask before, but he felt he was running out of time. He blurted a question out before he could think it over.

"Eh, hey wait! What's your name?"

Now the stranger did turn around.

"Why is it of vital importance to you?"

"Well, my mind rests better if I know who used my phone to text Scotland Yard." The man seemed to understand.

"Oh, then: my name is Sherlock Holmes."

 _What? Odd name. Explained the SH._ John hoped he had heard it correctly, but the man was practically running out of the shop by now and John had just one last chance, so in a shallow panic attack, he had to shout.

"How again?"

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!" The man yelled back over his shoulder.

The doorbell chimed, proving the stranger's departure.

For a moment, John could only blink, staring at the closed door. Utterly confused, John ran his fingers through his hair and sighed for the umpteenth time this day. He had no idea what just had happened.

  


He glanced over at table two where the stranger had sat just a few moments before. The hot coffee steamed up into the air, accompanied by the half-eaten muffin. The customer, in his hurried haze, had forgotten his photographs on the table. John stroked vaguely his index finger over the photographs before collecting them. He tucked them under his right arm, took the coffee and the muffin in his left hand and walked back to the counter. 

The stranger, no _Holmes_ , was interesting, exciting but also a bit disturbing. But secretly, he hoped he would come back tomorrow, at least to collect his photographs and hopefully for another black coffee with two sugars.


End file.
